


A Strange Man

by Luthienberen



Series: July Writing Prompts 2019 - Watson's Woes [5]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Gen, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 10:26:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19886083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthienberen/pseuds/Luthienberen
Summary: After a night shift in the London Hospital Watson finds a peculiar object in one of the surgical rooms recently opened for use.  The arrival of the owner of said object brings more questions than answers.





	A Strange Man

**Author's Note:**

> Written for July Writing Prompts at watsons_woes [dreamwidth], Prompt **Day 9 - On Your Left:** The object closest to you on your left is now your prompt. Include it or use it as inspiration for today's entry.
> 
> _My mobile phone was on my left so let's see what a Victorian gentleman thinks of such a contraption._
> 
> _I used my first ever mobile phone as inspiration, an orange A55 Siemens:_  
>  https://www.amazon.co.uk/Siemens-A55-Mobile-Phone-Orange/dp/B001EBXXWQ
> 
> _Lasted 11 years, transferred to my father for the final three and only put aside when my father eventually shifted to a smartphone mobile. May she rest in peace!_
> 
> _This became longer than I meant, so sorry?._

Watson donned his overcoat with tremendous weariness. His body ached from long hours spent examining patients, putting dislocated limbs into order, setting bones and from suturing wounds as the gas lamps spluttered. He prayed that the new electric lights would soon be installed, but of course it was an expense...an expense which a charitable hospital in the East End could hardly afford as a priority.  


For the moment at least.

Doctors Wójcik and Kotov were fetching their coats, but were taking longer, minds so heavy with the need to sleep that Watson was determined to hire a cab. Otherwise the hospital would require three new doctors and Holmes, along with Mrs Hudson, would give him an earful (presuming he survived any attempts on their lives).

If they did Watson was rather more concerned with his landlady's scolding. To have her mutton withheld and possibly a pudding too as punishment was a threat indeed. He would merely have to suffer Holmes' fussiness and resolution to follow Watson everywhere for a few weeks - hardly a threat.  


After knowing the eccentric detective for the last few years, Watson was accustomed to such displays of care and concern. It was sweet though he would never tell his supposedly  _ completely logical _ friend.

So Watson set forth to secure a cab. Yet as he headed towards the side exit - now securely padlocked after the Ripper scare - Watson paused.

The new operating theatre had a flickering light showing under the door. Watson stilled, breath lodged in his lungs. The room ought to be empty for all the surgeons or doctors were either in a different part of the hospital, or beginning / finishing their shifts.  


It was really too soon for their colleagues who had just arrived to be availing themselves of the newly refurbished surgical room. Even if they did require it there would be movement, murmuring voices, the smell of antiseptic.

Yet there was simply silence and the light.

Feeling in his pocket Watson drew out his slim wallet case and pried it open. Selecting his sharpest blade - for he couldn't carry his revolver in a hospital, Watson strode into the theatre.

Emptiness greeted him.

Emptiness with gas lamps turned low and the preparation table littered with bandages, a suturing needle in a metal dish with left-over thread and a small rectangular metal object.

Perplexed and still tense, Watson strode to the table. The metal object was a garish red orange with odd metallic buttons. Cautiously picking it up, Watson examined his strange find.

The buttons were tiny, each depicting a number with an assortment of letters above the digit. A small dark...window? Screen of some fashion? Whatever it was, it was fixed above the buttons.

Watson couldn't fathom its use. He did not believe it to be a bomb or weapon, but for what it could be remained a mystery. Then, all of a sudden, the device  _ came to life _ . It began a noise that steadily increased with the window lighting up a vivid orange as grey text appeared.

Fear and panic slammed through Watson and it took all his nerve to not merely throw the object.

Instead he tightened his grip, rapidly assessing the safest and nearest location to dispose of the object which must be a weapon.

Outside were patients and colleagues, so his sole option was the dressing room. Sprinting to the back of the theatre, Watson careened through the door slamming it shut with a kick.  


He skidded to a halt, blood drumming in his ears, heart the tattoo of a military parade when he saw the stranger.

The gentleman was clad smartly in a suit with a fetching colourful necktie, an embroidered waistcoat with a design of pretty tulips and a dark brown coat and trousers with polished black shoes. Two lively blue eyes caught him and all his alarm seeped away.

"Who are you?"

The man smiled, a friendly smile it was too, and gently plucked the noisome object from his grip.

"Be careful!"

"My dear boy, there is no need to be concerned. I am sorry to have alarmed you."

So saying the stranger pressed a button and spoke  _ to the device _ .  


"Hmmm, yes I am safe. Found myself in Victorian Britain, but fortunately I materialised in a hospital. Fixed my hand in an obliging theatre, but unfortunately alarmed a resident doctor. Ah, wait a moment."

The man rummaged in a waistcoat pocket with a bandaged hand, withdrawing a tiny notebook and pen.

The peculiar fellow was speaking into the object with someone! How?

Dazed, Watson wished to ask who this stranger was again when running footsteps echoed and two exhausted doctors nearly tumbled into the dressing room.

Two voices spoke in unison.

"Watson, are you well?"  


Doctor Kotov glanced over him with concern.  


"We saw the light and when we investigated further we noticed the dressings."

Warmth coiled through Watson at his friends' worry. He saw the instant both men noticed the odd fellow and his even odder contraption.

Doctor Wójcik blinked.

"Who is your companion and what is he holding?"

"I do not know my friends. I  _ believe _ it must be some form of communication device, a...a...telephone maybe?"

"Fantastic!" cried Dr Wójcik, falling back in wonder and shock at what they were seeing.

"Is it real?" asked Dr Kotov overwhelmed.

"Oh most assuredly," replied the gentleman as he tucked his notebook back into his pocket.

He looked fondly at the device.

"I picked up this treasure in the 21st century from a grateful companion. After a few modifications it functions extraordinarily well no matter where we are in the space-time continuum. Excellent reception."

"Pardon?" asked Doctor Kotov weakly.

Watson felt the same bewilderment as Kotov, while Wójcik mumbled the words as if by repeating them they would make sense.

Then something occurred to Watson. "Did you say the  _ twenty first century?" _

"Yes," said the kindly gentleman who must be mad. "Though gracious me. Where are my manners? I am the Doctor."

"You are a medical man?" queried Wójcik, giving up his attempt to parse meaning from the gibberish they were witnessing.

Watson had another question, "Doctor who precisely?"  


"Why, exactly that!" The gay fellow clapped his hands with a minor wince then spun on his heel.

"However, I really must go - my companion is quite anxious I return as is the Brigadier; something has come up."  


"Please wait!" protested Kotov, ever polite as their peculiar gentleman shook their hands before turning and hurrying through the door that led to a side room where the nurses dressed.

As one they pursued him only to come up short.

A tall blue box stood proudly and innocently in the middle of the room. The gentleman glanced over his shoulder and winked.

"The Tardis gentlemen. My apologies for the mess I have left behind, but duty calls alas! However, it has been an interesting visit. I am sure we shall meet again. Farewell!"

He slipped through a sudden opening, granting a glimpse of a space impossibly huge compared to the outside ere it shut with a click.

Then a harsh sound came into being, bringing life to the box which flashed blue before fading from existence.

Watson saw the expressions on his companions' faces: shock, fright and wonder. He felt the same.

Slowly they all sat on the floor, legs unable to bear them. Wójcik whispered a prayer while Kotov stared at the empty spot.

Watson found his thoughts scattered. Who had the "Doctor" been? An angel? A demon? If the latter, he was a kind one which seemed unlikely. Had they hallucinated?  


Anxious to know, Watson rose shakily and returned to the main operating theatre, followed by Kotov and Wójcik.

Together they stared at undeniable proof: the stained needle, the bandages and thread.

There were no words so they silently cleaned up and departed. In unspoken agreement they retired to Wójcik's home where his lively family helped them feel less as if their world had fractured and grown bigger as a result.

One obliging brother delivered telegrams for Watson and Kotov so that their respective families (Holmes and Mrs Hudson for Watson, his sister and friend for Kotov) wouldn’t be worried. In the meantime the three men chose sleep; their fatigued minds and bodies unable to grasp what they had experienced.

Later, in the afternoon they would discuss this "Doctor Who" and his Tardis.

**Author's Note:**

> 1- Doctor Who is Peter Cushing's version :-)
> 
> 2- The original characters are from my other canon story [‘Phantoms in the Fog’](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17932310), but both fic are standalone.
> 
> 3- The London Hospital was founded in 1740 as the “London Infirmary” as a volunteer/charitable hospital, with the intention of serving the local poor for free (in the days before free medical care). It was renamed the Royal London Hospital in 1990 on its 250th anniversary year.


End file.
